Short Stories with Tragic Endings
by Predominantly Normal
Summary: In which Tweek is fed up with Craig. POEMFIC/CREEK/ANGST/ (This story led me to intense humiliation.)


**I DO NOT OWN SOUTH PARK**

**A/N: Ahem; I'm sorry for another Oneshot. **

**ANYWAYS, You all better appreciate this because I was caught rapping out the lyrics at the top of my lungs by my stepmom and I feel ready to cry.**

* * *

Dear Craig;

I'm sorry I'm not brave enough to say this to your face,

A lot's been going on and I can't risk that what I say,

Will be riddled with my bothersome tics, slurs, and shrieks,

But I've been thinking 'bout it as I lay beneath these sheets.

That I can't deal with the mind-numbing pressure that it takes,

To deal with the weight of your fucking problems every single day,

So please heed what I word in my sloppy chicken scratch

I need you to understand that a first love can also be the last.

I am not a punching bag you can beat away your grief with,

I'm a fucking human being and I _demand_ to be well-treated,

I'm not a miracle, Craig. I can't make it all go away,

And I am not just a fuck you can brag about when your _other_ friends get laid.

I understand that you're going through a difficult time in life.

I know that you're hurt and screamed at and that your head ain't right.

But Craig, I'm only human, and there's only so much I can take,

And there's only enough will within me, and only so much strength.

You're going to make me lose it, man; I'm falling into bits,

And I don't deserve the pain for when your _dad_ treats you like shit.

I can't handle the stress of always being there for you,

I'm sorry, but there's only so much that I'm capable to do.

I'm trying my one-hundred percent best to help you cope

But there's not the same love in your eyes that used to give me hope.

I'm sorry if this lined graph paper isn't sincere enough for you,

But it'd the only thing I have which you can't see where I've cried to.

So when you get this note from my shaking, sweaty hand,

Get back to me real soon, so that I know you understand,

It doesn't even have to be face-to-face or over the phone,

You can just write right back to me, (It don't even have to be a poem).

I'm sorry if this comes off as rude, and I don't mean any hate,

But for things to get better there must be some action I can take.

I just want us to go back to what we were like you said we'd be.

"I love you so much, Craig Tucker". From your only; Tweek Tweak.

Dear Craig:

You still haven't replied, I don't like seeing you so down,

Just remember that I'll be there to help you turn yourself around,

And if you need to take it slower and do it step by step,

I won't mind your pace at all; it beats hanging to what's left.

Of you, and all that you once meant to a stupid guy like me,

I know I'm not ideal; I'm actually sort of a broken machine,

With a bunch of wayward bolts, and a handful of missing screws,

Plus about a dozen electrical wires that have somehow fallen loose.

I love you more than anybody else in this whole wide place,

And I love it even more when I can actually put a smile on your face,

But fuck, man, this whole thing has got to end sometime very soon,

I'm going to leave you man, if that's something I can actually do.

You've done nothing since my last note but treat me even more like shit,

I won't mention any names, but you made someone slit their wrists,

And that someone watched their red blood pool at their feet,

And prayed that you'd never notice the way they wore longer sleeves.

You didn't by the way, just thought that you should know,

That while this kid tried his best, you'd flip him off, and clutch his throat,

And snarl in that deep angry voice that he had learned to fear,

"Get the fuck away from me, you useless fucking queer,"

Then throw him on the hardwood, kick him like a toy,

Just because he wanted to talk to that one McCormick boy.

I –I mean- he, shouldn't have to go through all of this abuse,

And he doesn't need to hear another apology or goddamned excuse.

He's a little fucking batshit, and not right in the mind,

And he'll probably do something drastic; it's only a matter of time.

You can save him, Craig, act like the hero you can never be,

And when you save his life, you'll re-ignite some hope in me.

In the past two weeks, he's taken several too many wrong turns,

He hasn't eaten in a long time, and on his arm there are ten burns,

For every fucking time you've warned him to stay thin,

He whips out his dollar-store lighter, and burns himself again.

Because the pain feels something special, and when he's feeling dead,

And when he thinks he's hearing voices rampant in his head,

He quiets down and sits alone with a ready glass of gin,

Pulls out that goddamned lighter, and watches the flame melt his skin,

And every time it hurts, he looks down at his the ribs poking out his chest,

He remembers you like him this way, and knows it's for the best.

Because he loves you, man. All he wants is to see you grin,

Because when you do, it's worth all the burns upon his skin.

So I'm going to warn you one more fucking time,

I promise that if you're willing, we can be just fine,

But if you continue to hurt and to abuse the ones you trust,

You'll be all alone one day staring at their dead body, and clawing at the dust,

All I want is one fucking letter back that says "Okay,"

Or a little goddamned note that says, "I'll get better someday,"

I promise, hollow words will be all I need not to cry,

And if you say it in a kinder voice, then I can learn to love a lie.

Yours Only, Tweek Tweak.

Dear Craig:

I'm sorry I ain't writing this down, but I've got no choice,

Because I want you to hear the hurt and desperation in my voice

So I've got my tape recorder that I haven't used since 2002,

And a ready message I'm going to send to you,

And I hope you fucking hear it, and I hope it brings you pain,

And I hope it hurts even more when you listen once again,

I want you to suffer so fucking bad, for all you've put me through,

It's almost laughable to admit that I still fucking love you.

It's been six months since my last goddamned note,

And since then I've passed the time with forty un-sent ones that I wrote,

You just brushed me off, and you never felt the need to try,

Never said a word and read them aloud right in front of my eyes.

So I hope you're happy now, when you finally get this tape,

And I take back that line in my first note; I do mean to send you hate.

I hate you so much, Craig Tucker, I just want to fucking die.

And when I go to hell for killing myself, I know you'll soon be at my side.

I've got a twenty-two pistol; it's enough to kill if I shoot just right,

And I hope when the gunshot rings you'll lose sleep at night,

Just replaying this voice recording over and over in your head,

And hating yourself because this will be the last you hear me before I'm dead,

And the last you seen me was just seven hours ago, if you recall,

I walked in on you pressing that McCormick boy against the wall.

Then when I spoke up, you flipped me off and forced me to go,

Well I suppose you've got your wish, and maybe now you'll know.

That when the judge hears this, as she's reading out my will,

Everyone will understand that I was not the one who made the kill.

And I hope that she sends you to life locked up and away,

And stuck inside a prison where you'll never see the light of day.

I don't want you to die, I want you to suffer and rot,

Not so quick and easy like how I will with just one shot.

And now since the show's all over, since the noose has been set to hang,

I'll press the cold gun up to my forehead, squeeze the trigger and *BANG*


End file.
